


All the Little Lights (They're called stars, Alistair)

by DarkAislinn



Series: Thedas [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Love, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAislinn/pseuds/DarkAislinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Morrigan,” she started with a shake of her head, but catching the mirth in Morrigan’s translucent amber orbs, she rolled her eyes with a smile.</p><p>“If you do not tell him, I will. I cannot stand to watch as you two make those,” her hand waved in search of the word, her face scrunching in feigned disgust, “<i>faces</i> at each other any longer.”</p><p>Sometimes it takes the most unlikely of friends to push you in the direction you need to go. And sometimes?  It turns out perfectly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Little Lights (They're called stars, Alistair)

She sat across the camp, her eyes fixed firmly on his face through the flickering orange fire. A small smile pulled at the edges of her lips as he talked, in full animation, to Leliana and Zevran about an adventure he had been on, once upon a time ago, with the Templars. She was certain -- almost certain anyway -- that she had heard the tale before of the mighty Alistair who single-handedly defeated a pack of blighted wolves while all his Templar brothers were cowed in fear by the hungry beasts and were struck in awe by his Godlike strength as he cut them down, one by one.

Inwardly she had admitted, long ago, that she loved to watch his face when he spoke. He had so many expressions, more than she could count and double more than she was sure she could make. She loved the small crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled or the sideways quirk of his somewhat dry, chapped lips when he was joking, or the way he blushed in the moonlight when he had once told her how beautiful he thought she was. She loved his cheekbones, as if carved from marble by the Maker himself, the sweep of his temples and the squared yet soft edges of his jaw. She loved the quick dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, the way he wet his lips, and how his amber eyes sparkled when he laughed.

She thought he was most handsome post battle, his skin slick with sweat, his arms barely shaking from holding his sword and shield, and his armor splattered by the blood of his enemies.  The way he dropped into battle stance with his sword raised to just above his shield and how the muscles rippled in his arms when he thrust his shield forward and into the face of a foe was maddeningly erotic. She adored the look of concentration that adorned his features during battle. It was a sight the way his brows pulled down over his narrowed honey eyes, his lips pressed together into a thin, white line and his jaw a hard, elegant masterpiece.

Occasionally he would catch her gaze in the heat of battle and toss her a boyish grin before turning and sinking his blade deep into the chest of their enemy, and her heart would flutter inappropriately. Morrigan often caught these moments and would jab her staff into Nedra’s lower back to focus her again, saying, “Now is not the time to be idle. We have enemies biting at our heels!” She would scowl but hold her tongue because she would then realize that one wrong move, one wrong spell, could cost them their lives and she would hate to never again be able to see the way he smiled at her in the morning over his awful breakfasts.

That was another thing she loved about him. Not his breakfast -- definitely not, she'd rather eat darkspawn than what he calls food in the morning -- but she loved his hands. Twice the size of hers, palms as large as a wolf’s paw, with long, slender fingers that tapered at the tips in perfect ovals with nails cut short and callouses that might catch her hair. She loved the way, before wrapping his impossibly long fingers around the hilt of his sword, he brings them into his palms and cracks his knuckles in one movement. Often she wondered what those hands might feel like sliding over her bare flesh.

Zevran and Leliana tossed their heads back in raucous laughter and her smiled deepened. She wasn’t the only one who found his ridiculous and outrageous story-telling humorous. He finished his story with a great pantomime of how he finally defeated the largest of the beasts and Zevran clapped, his lips pulling back into a wide grin. He stepped forward and squeezed Alistair’s shoulder in friendly camaraderie before turning and slipping his hand about Leliana’s waist. He must have whispered something quite interesting in her ear the way she blushed before they parted and went separate ways.

“Have you told him yet?”

She turned, startled by Morrigan’s husky voice. She forced her eyes on the dark beauty and noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Alistair was now engaging her mabari in a game of fetch. “Should I know to what you are referring?”

Morrigan raised a brow and her lips quirked in a smile. “Oh,” she said, her voice deepening, “do not play coy with me, my friend. If he has not noticed by now then I daresay he truly is the simpleton that I have always known him to be.”

“Morrigan,” she started with a shake of her head, but catching the mirth in Morrigan’s translucent amber orbs, she rolled her eyes with a smile.

“If you do not tell him, I will. I cannot stand to watch as you two make those,” her hand waved in search of the word, her face scrunching in feigned disgust, “ _faces_ at each other any longer.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Her brows rose and her face shuddered into a mask of indifference. “Would I not?” Her honey colored eyes slid towards Alistair who was now speaking to Wynne, a smile fixed onto his features. "In truth, I have never loved a single one person before and though I think it a foolish notion, I can see that you and he care deeply for one another."

"Alistair and I--"

"Do not insult me," Morrigan interrupted, with a sharp shake of her head. "If I can see it, then I know the others can as well." She paused and her eyes, always watchful, lingered on his form. "I - and if you repeat this to anyone, least of all Alistair, I will deny it with every breath - admit that he is very handsome and easy on one’s eyes, but I do wonder about his abilities to seduce a woman considering you are here and he is there. Have you not thought about taking him to your bed?"

She felt her face flush and nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. Of course she had thought about it, she thought. Quite often, actually, and the mere idea made her blood race and she felt as if someone had dropped a hot coal into the pit of her stomach. She could feel Morrigan's gaze on her and her face grew hotter by the second.

"Ah, you have," Morrigan said matter-of-factly with a sly smile on her lips. "'Tis nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone here is no stranger to sex; except Alistair of course. I do not believe his Chantry would look upon the sharing of skin lightly and I cannot imagine he himself having the courage to coerce a woman into his bed." If her cheeks were any hotter, she thought, the entire camp would be burned to the ground. Morrigan canted her head slightly in confusion before her eyes widened in surprise. "Your petals have not yet been plucked?"

"Just shout it out all around camp, Morrigan," she muttered, looking about to ensure no one had heard.

"I would have thought that young templar, Cullen, would have ruffled your feathers while you were at the tower but that is not so, is it?"

"Cullen? He was a dear friend and only such. Whether or not I had feelings for him is irrelevant. He is a good man and would never entertain the thought," she replied, her face growing hotter than the fire due to the lie.

"Indeed? So, 'twas not Cullen, then, who blubbered about his infatuation with you when stuck in the trap by the evil Uldred?"

She scowled and crossed her arms over her slim body, shutting down the route the conversation was taking. "You're a pest, you know that?"

Morrigan tossed her head back with a throaty laugh that carried across camp in dancing waves. When she finally gained control of herself, she knelt beside the Warden, her hand hovering over her own. "My friend," she said. "Before joining this mismatched band of misfits, I had never known what it was like to have friends or someone who truly cared for me and I for them. I shall tease you mercilessly for your infatuation with that knobhead but I am happy for you and wish you the best." She paused, turning her amber gaze on the ex-templar who was now in the middle of his nightly ritual of cleaning his shield with precise, even strokes. "Leliana once said that sometimes friends must do whatever they can to help and that is what I intend to do. Unless you will be so bold and confess to him the feelings that torment you so?"

She was torn between letting Morrigan do the hard part, strangling her friend, and doing it herself. Why must this be so difficult? They'd flirted mildly on occasion and that hadn't been so bad, had it? He'd told her, once, how beautiful he thought she was. Like a fool, all she had been able to do was blush and fumble over her words, trying -- and failing -- to express her gratitude and offer the same compliment.

She thought about the rose -- the one he had plucked from Lothering and coddled, nursed and replanted in a cracked silver chalice he had cleaned, polished and tried to mend -- that he had given her and her heart skipped a beat when thinking about his words then. She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, blinking away the hot tears that stung her smokey green eyes.

She sighed and took Morrigan's hand in hers, holding tight when she jerked, startled, and almost - almost - pulled away. "I suppose you're right," she said. "I've been dancing around this too long but only because I was too nervous." She met Morrigan's suddenly wry look with a smile and a soft, tinkling laugh. "Who would've thought that you, of all people, would push me towards Alistair?"

Morrigan brushed the comment away, her eyes glancing at their hands and her brow quirked, lips pulling up at the edges in a smile. "Certainly not I," she said.

The Warden laughed and stood, brushing off the dirt that clung to her robes, and lightly touched her hair, suddenly worried about her appearance. Normally dirt and flyaway hairs wouldn't have disturbed her, but this was different.

This wasn't talking strategy covered in blood, calling orders in the midst of battle or planning their next move on how to win the blighted war. This was intimate and special and so very outside her comfort zone.

Her heart was beating a frantic staccato against her ribs, her palms were clammy despite the cool, crisp evening breeze that meant winter was coming and her cheeks were hot as if she had sat too close to the crackling, smoking fire. Her feet felt weighted down, heavy as orichalcum, and it was taking all of her strength to put one foot forward in front of the other.

Suddenly she stopped, a dreaded and painful thought slamming into her like a steel shield, leaving her winded, and she froze. What if -- _what if_ Alistair had only said and done those things to be kind? To make her feel better about losing her home -- the Circle -- and being an outsider -- an elf -- in the middle of a human camp? He'd said and done all of that before Zevran had arrived and was it possible she had fooled herself into thinking he, a human, could care about her, a Dalish mage who had been banished to the Circle? Perhaps he had felt pity for her or --

"I know what you are thinking," Morrigan said quietly from behind her, her voice soft and surprisingly comforting against the rushing of blood in her ears. "And you are wrong, as you are most of the time."

She breathed a laugh, not realizing she had been holding her breath, and shyly tucked invisible tendrils of copper silken hair behind her ear. "You're certain?"

"Am I ever wrong?" she questioned, her dark, full lips pulling up at the edges and her milky skin creasing in kindness. "Had I one doubt that he might not be receptive to your own feelings or may not share those same feelings, never would I have suggested any of what I told you."

"But --"

"I will take your but and cast it into the depths of the Deep Roads with all of your other protests," Morrigan cut in, her thin hand slicing through the air in one firm stroke. "You are worried about your appearance, yes? Speak to Leliana. As much as she wants to dress me up as if I am some child's toy, I am certain she would be overly and disgustingly delighted that you would ask her for help."

"Thank you, Morrigan," she smiled.

"Yes, yes. Now off with you."

Silently, the mage turned and walked off into the darkness to no doubt change and run with the wolves as she was often wont to do on occasion.

Calming her nerves, she headed towards Leliana.

 

* * *

  

"Alistair?" came a soft voice, only lightly accented after many years of living away from her Dalish heritage.

He looked up from the stone in his hand and met his fellow Warden’s eyes. The stone was smooth silver spotted with white, flat in lieu of the furrow in the center, which was perfect for the width of his blade so he could sharpen it until the blade sank deep into the chest of his enemy like fresh churned butter. On the contrary, her eyes were the most striking green he ever had the pleasure to encounter; green like the bright, happy meadows surrounding Redcliffe but darker than the forest over the hills and yet still not quite the same. In but a few words he could only describe them as breathtakingly beautiful.  

Quickly he catalogued her change in appearance, the same way he took in everything that was happening on the battlefield; the coppery curls cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, the flowing white robes that clung to her waist and hips, giving emphasis to her elvish curves and her accentuated cleavage by the bright quartz pendant that was nestled between her breasts.

He swallowed and cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from her strong, slender body and forcing himself to look at her face. The face that was not marred by black teeth, caked with dirt or grisly scars like so many women they had encountered in their travels. The face that was looking down at him, auburn brows pinched inwards over eyes that were the color of forests and lips that were small but full and rich with natural pink color and not doused in rouge that was unnatural.

"Yes?" he asked, inwardly cringing at the crack in his voice but managed to keep his features from betraying him.

Her lips parted in a soft, slow smile. "Are you busy?"

"Me? Busy? Perish the thought!" He smiled. "I can't believe you would even ask such a thing, my dear lady!"

She laughed a deep, thrumming laugh and he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he tilted his head. He loved that about her. The way she could laugh when everything around them was growing darker every day and how her smile could light up camp brighter than any fire ever could.

He loved how her smile was a dazzling white amidst the bleak, black world they lived in. He loved how positive she stayed and how she managed to crack a joke in the worst moments and turn the situation around from life threatening to merely a nuisance. He loved how she was able to take the darkest things, like the blight, and cast light on it, finding the silver lining and playing upon it until they were once again back in their tents and left to their own dark secrets and night terrors. For all of them, it was a distant thought, like a nightmare after waking.

He loved the way she whipped her staff forward, her hand glowing a bright, beautiful blue as she cast both fire and sky at their enemies. The way her healing cascaded over him in gentle waves akin to a caress or chaste kisses across his heated skin in the midst of battle. He loved the way her eyes closed, head tilted back, brows creased in concentration, and whispered a prayer to the Maker, her Gods - her Creators - for strength as she summoned the breath, life and will of the earth beneath their feet to cast a spell so powerful it shook the ground, lightning splitting the air and wind so strong it whirled in a vast circle, sweeping up their enemies and tossing them around equivalent to bales of hay chucked across farms and into barns.

But most of all - _most of all_ he loved how she had accepted him, accepted his now apparent fate to be King, accepted him as just Alistair, just an almost Templar, just as the bastard son of King Maric who was cast out to Redcliffe then thrown to the Chantry just to protect him. She didn’t think ill of him or stomp her feet in childish anger at his secret or spew harsh words to wound him. She understood the secrecy, understood _him_ and his wish to keep it hidden. Not once had she mentioned it in sarcasm but merely in hard fact question, grounding him and reminding him, gently, that there was always the possibility that he could be King. That no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it was still there, an ever pressing whisper sitting on his shoulder and he needed to decide: Was he a Warden, ever doomed to his fate, his curse of tainted blood that forced him into the Deep Roads after three decades, or a King, made of steel and iron and forced to make the hard decisions no one else was willing to make for Ferelden?

That is what makes a Hero. Someone who accepts duty, without question, and takes on burdens no other man or woman would even think about, let alone fathom in their wildest dreams or nightmares. Someone who would sacrifice their home, their family and all they ever knew for the greater good, for people they had never known and never met. Someone who would take on problems that were a thousand times the size of themselves and grasp it by the horns, swing it up and slam it down with a tired smile and haunted look in their eyes but made sure their companions were well, mentally sound and ready for the next beast and battle. And he loved that about her. Not just because she was strong, but because she was so selfless and only thought about the people, the ones she loved.

 _Did that include him?_ was a thought he had often pondered, worried over, and ignored.

“Alistair?”

He blinked and there she was, in all her glory but different with the ropes of unbraided crimson hair hanging about her shoulders and ghost white robes that hugged her elven form and a quick, soft roll of the eyes with her hand pressing against his shoulder to push him back and a laugh escaping her parted lips. He couldn’t hide or suppress his laughter even if he wanted to.

"I'm here," he answered with a smile.

"Good. I was beginning to wonder... well, it matters not, yes?" Her slim fingers tightened in her robes then relaxed with a swallow of her throat. She inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly as if preparing for a lengthy speech in front of a crowd she did not know. He had never known her to be shy or timid yet here she was before him, her nimble digits trembling, a light sheen of sweat beading along her upper lip and cheeks flushing darker as the seconds ticked by. “I wanted - there is something I -,” she paused, her teeth pulling her full, rose colored lips into her mouth and chewed on them for a moment.

Instead of saying anything at all, she bent forward, eyes closed, and pressed her soft lips against his so quickly he couldn’t be certain that’s what actually happened aside from the cool tingle he felt in his lips and he resisted the urge to touch them; there was no need to act like a fledgling or school girl. She pulled back and smiled at him, her tiny hands still gripping his shoulders where she had held on for leverage so she wouldn’t go tumbling to the ground. Her smile fell and sudden apprehension overtook her features, her grip loosening exponentially until her fingers were curled in her own robes once again and she shifted her weight from one booted foot to the other.

“Was that --”

“What was --”

They stopped and laughed, the tension thinning in the air around them and she shook her head in shy embarrassment. He motioned for her continue, his fingers itching to take her hand in his and run his calloused thumb  in quiet whorls over her smooth, pale skin. She cleared her throat and brushed her thick mass of waves over her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

His heart stopped beating for two moments and he tried to hide his disappointment. "No need to be sorry. It was not unpleasant, for me anyway."

Her eyes widened, her lips forming a soft "o" and her hand shot out to grab his with a squeeze. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded," she said quickly. "I was unsure if it was presumptuous of me. To assume that you might be receptive to such blatant behavior and displays of affection was uncalled for and I should have at least asked for permission to do such a thing. Forgive me, Alistair. I should not have --"

He cut off her adorable rambling by pulling her down and crushing her lips against his own. She froze before melting into his kiss, her mouth slanting across his. Daring, he ran his tongue over the fullest part of her lips and had to control the moan that threatened to erupt from him when she opened her lips and met his questing tongue.

She tasted of wine and smoke and it was intoxicating. She sank until they were both kneeling, their tongues sliding over each other in the cool evening, her breath rapid. He felt light, as if he was floating, and glided his large hand over her shoulder, up the nape of her neck and wound his fingers into the soft, silky tresses.

Her own fingers were gripping his short, blonde strands and she was pressing so tight against him he could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest. He wanted more, as much as she was willing to give, but reluctantly he pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers, a smile fixed on his lips. "I hope that wasn't too soon," he whispered, soaking in the feel of her skin against his.

She released a breathy laugh and her hands slid down the back of his head to rest on his hot neck. So close he could see the golden flecks that dotted her irises. "It's only too soon if you stop kissing me," she answered, her left hand traveling over his shoulder and down his chest.

He laughed and glanced around the camp, noticing the frown upon Wynne's face and how Zevran had mysteriously disappeared with Leliana. Oghren was leering at them openly with a wineskin clutched in his meaty hand and Sten was testing his strength against Shale's. Morrigan was no where to be seen. "Perhaps we could go elsewhere?"

Her smile widened despite her blush. "Why Alistair! Are you inviting me into your tent? How bold of you!"

He felt his own cheeks flush hotter than a thousand suns and stumbled over his words. "I didn't mean - that was never - I was thinking th-the lake. I would never ask such a thing,” he denied, lifting his palms up. “You remember what I told you about the Chantry? Some of the other brothers might have, yes, but I was true and chaste and would never suggest --”

She lifted a slender, alabaster finger and pressed it against his lips then quickly replaced her digit with her soft lips. “I was joking,” she whispered against his mouth, her breath hot and smelling of mint leaves that she had insisted on having after dinner. She pulled away too soon and tugged at his hand. "The lake sounds lovely and I grow tired of Wynne's disapproving gaze against my back. Come, there we will find peace and quiet."

He had no wish to deny her and followed behind her swaying, elven hips with his heart hammering away at his ribs.

 

* * *

  

The lake was quiet and beautiful, reflecting the moon against the black water like a mirror; similar to but not quite an Eluvian. It looked much larger that way, its giant size multiplied by the reflection, casting silver light across the two of them as they passed through the shadows of the trees.

She didn't want to venture too far from camp lest the others go looking but she wanted a soft, moss covered bed of ground far enough away to hide their conversation.

Or other sounds, she thought quickly before banishing it away with an impressive blush and embarrassed smile.

"There," Alistair said, his hand pointing to a spot illuminated by moonlight, looking particularly soft and inviting.

Their feet crunched across frosted, dead leaves as they made their way to it, hands entwined. They settled down, sitting across from each other, and sheepishly avoided eye contact. What now? she thought.

Almost before the thought was out, Alistair was leaning forward on his knees, one warm hand curling around the base of her skull. He stopped before closing the small distance, a nervous look on his face, and said, "Maker's breath, but you're beautiful. I was never certain if you felt the same or if I was imagining past conversations and glances. It-it's so difficult to think when you're around and we're not in a battle. I feel like my head is going to explode and right now I want nothing more than to kiss you."

She felt the familiar hot prick of tears behind her eyes and lifted her hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into her, eyes falling shut, and pressed a kiss into her palm that sent a jolt of lightning straight through to her core. "Kiss me, Alistair."

He didn't need much more encouragement before his lips descended on hers, his rough tongue sliding across her lip and into her mouth. His breath was warm and he tasted of metal and wood and everything that was him, that was Alistair.

She melted into him, her slender arms snaking about his neck and pressing against him as much as his armor would allow, which wasn't nearly as close as she wanted or needed in that moment.

When she pulled away he made a small noise of annoyment and she smiled, her cheeks blazing from either embarrassment or arousal. "Can you remove your armor?" she asked shyly. He paused, as if trying to figure out an alchemic equation and quickly she added, "If you don't want want too, I understand. Perhaps it was too forward."

He shook his head, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a smile. "I can," he answered. He leaned back and began removing his armor, piece by piece. "With steel I have to wear a tunic beneath or else the plating cuts into my skin."

She watched in fascination as he untied hidden leather strips tucked meticulously under the shining metal, inwardly admitting how handsome and perfect his body looked at he revealed himself to her slowly, almost shyly. He glanced at her as he pulled away his cuirass but her eyes were fixed on the outline of his chest beneath his worn, soft looking tunic.

He was smaller outside his armor, but by no means less imposing or large. His armor was bulky and big and sometimes hid his form from her, but without it her hands itched to touch him. It was almost overwhelming.

She curled her fingers against her palms to curb the urge and had to look away when he moved to tuck his armor out of sight. She was suddenly very warm despite the coolness of the evening and felt the urgent need to take a swim in the cold water behind them.

He came back to her, sitting down and ran his hands over his thighs. "It feels odd without the heavy feel of my armor," he mused, flexing his muscles, which did not help her current state. "A little colder, too." He turned towards her, his hand tentatively reaching to play with her thick crimson locks as he leaned back on his elbows. "I've never seen your hair this way. Many women in Denerim and Redcliffe wouldn't dare to let their hair free. I once had an old woman tell me it was unladylike to wear their hair this way. I wonder why."

She could not help the crimson that crept into her pale cheeks at his mild petting and could only imagine what an outsider might have thought seeing them. She ducked her head, hiding her face from his gaze. "In Dalish culture," she responded shyly, "women who are unmarried often keep their hair up and away from sight. Not all the women, of course, but many. Some prefer to keep their locks short so they do not have to endure the process of hiding it."

"Why do you leave it long?" he questioned, his head tilting out of mere curiosity. She smiled at his innocent and boyish question, unable to find the heart to inform him it was quite rude to ask her that. She knew he meant nothing of it. He was doing what he did best: being Alistair.

"I - hmm," she started. Truth be told, she didn't really know why she kept it long. "I suppose I find the act of brushing and braiding cathartic. It soothes me after a particularly difficult battle or if I am feeling tense."

His hand once again tangled in her tresses and stroked. "I like it this way."

The way his amber orbs swept over her head and captured her gaze was mesmerizing, and once again she felt the too familiar throb of heat course through her veins and settle deep in her core.

Hesitantly she leaned forward. All thought processes seemed to blank out with the scent of him and she pressed her lips against his, sighing when his large hand tightened in her hair. "Perhaps I could wear it like this more often," she whispered against him.

He opened his mouth to say something but she took that opportunity to slide her tongue against his and curl her fingers in his tunic. She felt his hand slide down her shoulder, ghost along her ribs and settle hotly on her hip.

Having his hand so close to where she really wanted it was almost torture and unable to stop herself, she swung her leg over his hips to straddle him.

She heard him gasp and felt his desire press against her thigh, which spurred her on. She pulled her lips from his and trailed small kisses against the corners of his mouth, over his jaw and down towards his neck.

His hand was hot as it danced across her back and down, stopping just before touching her backside. She'd never felt such physical pain until then and oh, how she wanted him to touch her. She felt like she was going to explode if he didn't and she realized she must have said as much when he froze beneath her.

She lifted her head from his ear and met his eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmured and made to move off him but his hands gripping her hips made her stop.

"Don't be sorry," he said, his one hand reaching up and cupping her face. "I want to. Maker help me, I want nothing more but I don't want to rush this. I want it to be perfect when we do."

She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair, her heart swelling. "It'll never be perfect, Alistair. Not in this war. I think we have to take what little time we have together and make the most of it. At any time we could die and I don't want to die with regrets. And my biggest regret would be not being with you, in any form, when I had the chance," she paused, her fingers idly dancing over his scalp. "When you think about it, we -- as Wardens -- do not have all the time in the world, unlike everyone else. Unless we don't end the Blight, of course."

He arched a brow, his lips pulling back in a smile and laughed. "I suppose that's true," he said. His hand moved up her back, fingers pressing warmly between her ribs, and let her hair fall heavy over his arm as he cupped her cheek in his hand.

His long fingers curled around to the base of her skull, tangling in her soft waves, and his calloused thumb brushed across her jaw.

Time seemed to suspend momentarily as they looked at each other, the only sound around them the quiet lapping of water against the sand.

She felt the slight tightening of his hand and she leaned down, meeting his lips with hers. She sighed into him and let her fingers wander downwards, over his broad shoulders and muscled chest, her hands tightening in his tunic when he nipped her lip.

Instinctively she rocked her hips forward over his and the sound that he made spurred her on. She did it again, feeling his desire swell until he was pressed hotly against her core and she was so warm she thought she might fly to pieces.

Before she lost her newfound courage, she took his hand and placed it over her breast, whispering, "Touch me, Alistair." And touch her he did.

Her words must have been what he needed to give him courage since almost as soon as the words left her moist lips his thumb was brushing over her aching nipple and his other hand was sliding up her leg, pushing her robes to her hips, and leaving behind a burning trail of desire.

She moaned and pressed herself fully against him, taking encouragement from the way he lifted his hips to meet hers. He grunted, a sound not from pleasure, and she looked at him. His face was flushed and his breathing was labored and she found it incredibly arousing. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, her swollen lips feeling odd when she spoke.

He laughed and shook his head. "Oh no," he breathed. "My, well. My trousers are quite tight and it's uncomfortable."

"Perhaps it would be better if we switched positions?" she asked, already pushing up and moving to lie back on the soft bed of moss.

She smiled at him, her hand lightly pulling at his until he was above her. Her one hand pressed against the back of his head and the other she slid under his tunic, nails scratching over his hard abdomen. His breath caught and he settled between her thighs, leaning down to kiss her.

While she enjoyed the kissing, she was far more distracted by his swollen manhood pressing against her center through their clothes.

Insistently she tugged at his shirt, urging him to remove the piece of fabric. He pulled back, keeping his weight on his knees, and pulled it over his head. She managed to contain the surprise when his nipples hardened in the cool evening. She didn't know that men did that too.

He took her hand and pressed it over his heart and smiled. "Do you feel that?" he asked.

Beneath her fingers his skin was hot, but she could feel the rapid thudding of his heart. She smiled, a breathless laugh escaping her, and placed his hand over her own beating organ. "Mine is just as fast."

He leaned down, bracing his weight on his elbows and cupped her face. "Are you nervous?"

"Yes," she whispered, her fingers tracing his lips, memorizing every contour of his handsome face. "But I want this. I want to share this with you. To give myself to you because, because I love you."

He sighed in contentment, his body relaxing above her, and captured her lips in the most mind numbing kiss. His tongue swept against her her rose colored lips, sliding between them, and touched hers with an urgency that left her breathless.

Her legs came up, bent at the knees, and she lifted her hips. His lips pressed sweltering, feather light kisses against her chin, her jaw and down her neck. His fingers tightened in her hair and tugged her head back so he could nip and suck at the hollow of her throat.

She gasped and a deep, throaty moan escaped her parted, swollen lips. His name was a quick following whisper against the cool evening.

He breathed her name against her ear, his tongue swiping hot across her lobe. Her hands shook from arousal and nerves when she ran them over his sculpted shoulders and down the hard muscles of his back.

His hips pressed against her, hard and wanting, when his hand cupped her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple lightly while his other hand was busy tugging up her robes. He caressed her milky thigh, moaning when the soft skin brushed his waist.

He dipped his head and trailed his lips and tongue across the swell of her breasts. She could barely think, let alone breathe. When he urged her to sit up, she looked at him with arousal infused confusion.

"You're overdressed," he mumbled, his words ending on a growl and his lips red and swollen.

She hadn't thought to wear anything beneath her robes and now, with his hand gently pulling her soft clothes up over her hips, did she realize how utterly naked she was.

A blush burned across her cheeks and her fingers gripped his wrist in sudden self-consciousness. He paused, pure arousal swimming in his eyes when he looked at her. Never before had she been looked at like that with such open, blatant hunger and her breath caught in her chest.

She'd inconspicuously listened as Leliana and Morrigan tried to match one another story for story about past lovers -- similar to Zevran and Oghren's drink for drink game -- and she had wistfully imagined how she might feel in their shoes, but now she knew.

It was wonderful and exciting and nerve-wracking. And if it was anyone but Alistair, she wouldn’t be able to smile nervously through the blush and slowly tug her robes up and over her head.

She heard his breath hitch when he slowly lowered his gaze to drink in the sight of her. His hands were feverish against her skin as they ghosted up her thighs, the curve of her hips, the dip in her waist, across her ribs and the swell of her breasts.

Maker, Creators, whoever, she wanted him to touch her, caress her. She wanted to feel his lips and tongue dance across her skin so badly she couldn't help herself when she leaned forward, her own mouth seeking his hungrily.

She pressed her nakedness against his chest and the feel of his hair lightly scratching her nipples sent ripples of heat searing through her veins.

Together they fell back against the bouncy, soft moss covered bed they had claimed. His mouth claimed the dip at her throat, his lips pulling the soft flesh in his heated mouth as he sucked.

Her hand trailed down his spine until she could slide her fingers into the waistband of his breeches and massage the warm skin she discovered there.

He placed kisses across her clavicles and down her chest. He hesitated a second before gently running the tip of his tongue over her hard, pink nipple. Her back arched in shocking pleasure and her hand tangled into his short hair, urging him to do it again.

His tongue laved the bud, his teeth carefully scraping over it and then pulling it between his lips. The gentle sucking sent shockwaves throughout her body, setting her insides aflame. A feeling of intense pleasure was building behind her belly button and liquid heat pooled between her thighs.

Her hips lifted, seeking the hard bulge, and she rubbed herself against his manhood. A whimper escaped her lips when he pulled his mouth away but it quickly turned into a sigh as his lips gave the same attention to her other nipple.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer to her, but he would have none of it. "I want to try something," he whispered, his lips brushing hers.

The only thing she could do was nod and shiver as his lips, tongue and hands burned a scorching trail down her torso. His teeth nipped her hips and his tongue darted out to sooth the sudden arousing sting.

His finger traced the soft, curly hair above the spot that was aching for his touch. Where his fingers touched, his tongue followed.

All thought and feeling shorted out when his breath caressed her most sensitive area. She froze, her breathing halted, and shivers of unbridled anticipation made their way up her spine.

The first touch against her mound caused a breathless scream to erupt up and out of her. His slender fingers traced her folds the same way they had caressed the petals on her Lothering rose. Soft, gentle and maddening.

With a quick glance up at her bright, sweaty face, he spread her lips. The cool air was a bit of a shock against her wetness, but the warmth of his tongue made her gasp.

He tongued her nub in agonizingly slow circles until all she could do was gasp his name. He pulled it in his mouth, his lips sucking it, and she felt his finger probe her entrance.

Her hips lifted, a silent answer to his question, and a loud, deep moan was the only sound she could muster. Her own fingers pulled at her nipple while her other hand tangled in his hair.

"Maker, save me," she whispered into the cool night. She felt the pressure building in her abdomen and she felt as if she was going to explode from the sheer ecstasy of his mouth.

His finger slowly slid into her, just the tip, and she felt herself clamp around his digit. He groaned, the sound sending delicious vibrations across her clitoris and her thighs tightened around his head.

As gently as he could, he kept sliding his middle finger deeper and deeper until it was completely buried in her channel. His teeth grazed her clitoris and when her hips jerked, he pulled his finger out.

He dipped it back in, this time sighing against her moist lips when he felt no resistance. He stroked her pillowy insides, learning her, and he discovered a slightly rougher patch that caused her to jerk so badly, he had to hold her hips down.

He continued to stroke it, listening to her panting fill the night air, and carefully added a second finger. He pressed against the spot and ran his hot tongue over her sensitive, pink nub that was throbbing.

"Alistair, I-I," she moaned, her fingers curling in the moss.

When her body reached that climax, she couldn't control the cry that was ripped from her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut even though she desperately wanted to see him. Pulses of ecstasy throbbed throughout her entire body and she rode the waves with little self-control.

Finally, when her nerves were still sizzling in the afterglow, she managed to open her eyes. A lazy smile made its way onto her relaxed face when she saw him above her.

She lifted her tired hand and traced his lips, those same lips that could cause her to feel the way she did. "Maker," was all she managed to wrangle out of her dry throat.

He laughed, burying his face in her hair. "Was-was that okay?" he whispered against her ear.

The touch of his breath against her skin sent ripples throughout her and she was surprised at how she suddenly needed him, all of him, so soon after.

Not trusting her mouth, she used her hands to show him. She slid her fingers down his chest, her nails running gently over his skin, and dipped them into the waistband of his trousers.

She felt his swollen manhood through his breeches with her other hand and swallowed. He felt much larger than his fingers. It was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at the same time.

His abdomen jerked and tightened beneath her hand when she squeezed him. It spurred her on, giving her courage to do what she wanted.

Slowly, she untied his pants until they were loose about his hips. He froze above her when she pushed them down and freed him from his constraint.

He fell hot, wet and heavy against her silky inner thigh and when she wrapped her thin fingers around him, he let loose a deep moan that vibrated throughout his chest.

He dropped his forehead against her neck, inhaling shallow breaths, while her hand tentatively explored his length.

Her thumb passed across the head, slicking away the moisture that had beaded there, and she fisted her hand around him. "Is this okay?" she murmured, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart, and slid her hand down until her skin touched his lower abdomen.

"Oh, it-it's better than _okay_ ," he mumbled against her shoulder. "It's -- oh, Maker, do that again."

She squeezed him again, tightening her fist and sliding her hand back up to the head. His hips thrust forward and a groan escaped him.

"I want to try something," she whispered. "Lie back."

With her hand on his chest, he rolled off her and settled back against his balled up tunic, one arm under his head. He watched her with heated apprehension in his eyes.

She pulled his trousers off and laid them to the side. She turned back to him, crimson waves falling over her breasts, and ran her hand over his muscled thigh. His hair was soft and scarce and she wanted to know what it would feel like against her skin.

Nervously she inched between his thighs, her fingers trailing over his abdomen and teasing the hair curling around the base of his manhood. She wrapped her hand around him, squeezing his hard length, and bent her head.

Her tongue darted out to lick away the clear fluid that was beading on the tip of his silken tip and he groaned. She lifted her bright, slanted eyes and found him watching her. His lips were parted slightly, lids heavy and breath quick and shallow.

She took it as a good sign and ran the tip of her tongue over him, tracing the outline of his head. Pulling the tip into her mouth, she applied gentle suction, and when he whispered her name it was like a volcano churning inside of her.

Experimentally, she took more of him into her hot, wet mouth. He was so large that she had to open her mouth wider but the sound he made when her lips touched the base was completely dirty and intoxicating.

She moved her hand up, wrist twisting, when she followed the length of him back up with her tongue. His fingers curled into her tresses and he breathed a curse when her teeth passed over him.

She looked up, meeting his gaze, when she swallowed and took him as deep as she could. "Maker forgive me," he moaned, bordering on a cry.

His hand applied gentle pressure to the back of her skull, urging her to do it again, so she did. This time, she moaned around him, and his hips jerked, his cock throbbing against her lips.

She traced the vein with her tongue, fingers squeezing his base, and sucked the tip into her mouth until he tugged her hair sharply. Her nipples hardened and she did it again, over and over. Gently yet swiftly he pulled away from her mouth, one hand running over his face as muttered curses fell from his lips.

"Did I do something?" she asked anxiously.

"No. It - I, oh Maker. If - if you kept doing that I would have ended the night all too soon," he admitted with an embarrassed look.

She smiled and tugged his hand towards her. "We can't have that. _I_ can't have that," she said, pulling him until he was above her.

She marveled at how perfectly his hips nestled betwixt her thighs but she barely had time to think on it too long when his mouth captured her swollen lips and the tip of his manhood pressed against her center.

"I want you Alistair," she whispered against his lips. "All of you."

His moan against her neck when she wrapped her slender fingers around him to guide him towards her slick fruit almost sent her over the edge again. He lifted his head, eyes bright orbs above her, and pressed a soft kiss against her nose, both lids, cheeks and lips. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered. "I heard the men talk and know what to expect, but if there is pain, I do not want you to hide it."

"Do not worry about me, ma vhenan," she answered. She lifted her hips, urging him to do what she wanted most. His eyes never left hers, not once, while he slowly slid himself inside her.

She gasped at the sensation and braced herself for the onslaught of pain, but soon learned that it wasn't at all painful. It was strange and wonderful all at the same time. He filled her in a way that she never imagined possible. He stretched her to fit him and her thighs clenched around his hips.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his face contorted into pleasure and she could tell by his shaking arms it was taking all of his self-control, all of his Templar disciplinal training, to not move inside her.

Instead of saying anything, she threaded her fingers into his hair and pulled his head down to her in answer.

His hips pulled back, almost sliding out of her, and pushed himself back in. He did this slowly, over and over, until he was fully inside of her. "Nedra," he groaned, burying his face against her neck and taking deep breaths to calm himself.

She slid her left foot along his calf and raised her other knee until it almost touched her shoulder and gasped when he slid in even deeper.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked suddenly and tried to pull away but her hands tightened on his back.

"Quite the opposite," she breathed. "I've never felt anything so wonderful."

Taking her words to heart, he pulled his hips back and and begun to move inside of her at a slow and steady pace. Her head dropped back against the moss, quiet moans and soft gasps escaping into the night until he bent his head and tugged her nipple into his mouth.

Later she might be embarrassed by the loud, lusty cry she gave and how she felt herself become even wetter around him, but right then all she wanted was more of him.

His teeth grazed her pink bud, laving it with his tongue and steadily increasing the pace of his lovemaking until she was a writhing, sweaty mess beneath him who was unabashedly crying out in wanton, heavy moans.

"Alistair!" she cried, hips thrusting upwards and ankles slinking about his waist to take him deeper.

Her lips found purchase on his neck, tongue seeking his pulse point, and sucked. He grunted and slammed his hips against hers in response, hitting a spot that caused her back to arch off the ground and a loud cry to tear from her throat.

"Again," she moaned breathlessly. "Do that again."

He pulled his hips back, his hard length sliding out of her, and she mewled at the loss. "Like this?" he asked, and once again slammed himself against her.

The air gusted out of her lungs and a light flashed behind her lids. She felt herself contract around him and dug her heels into his lower back. Again he did it and she felt her magic crackle over her hypersensitive skin before it blanked out.  

"Oh, yes," he groaned.

Over and over he pulled himself out only to thrust back in quickly at a slow, leisurely pace, and each time they felt her magic spark like a fire trying to ignite.

He increased his hard thrusting until her back was scraped raw from the moss and her nails left light scratches down his back. She'd never felt anything so amazing and she felt herself climbing higher and higher until she could barely endure any more.

His breathing was rapid and harsh. His eyes shut tight and he dropped his forehead against hers. "I don't - I can't last much longer," he whispered urgently.

Her hips were moving now of their own accord, her body wound tight like a bow and ready to fire. Her magic encased them, caressed and burned, ready to flare at any moment.

"Alistair! Alistair I -" she cried, her head throwing back against their makeshift bed of moss and her back bowing.

Her eyes slammed shut, her thighs tightened around his hips and locked as she reached for her peak. Her insides quivered around him and he gave one last thrust that sent her over the edge.

She cried out and her magic snapped, flaring around them in blinding blue and sending cascading waves of gentle, warm embers across their bodies.

It bound them together as they climaxed in synchronous harmony. Her body undulated under him, vaginal muscles spasming and clamping around his length. His hips pressed against hers, groaning out his orgasm against her lips as he emptied himself inside of her.

Slowly they floated back down from their ecstasy, her magic quietly burning out, and she ran her fingers through his matted hair when he rested it against her chest, his breathing labored but slow.

Her fingertips felt the soft, almost nonexistent shivering of his flesh. "Are you cold?" she asked softly, wrapping her warm arms around him.

"Not cold, no," he replied with a small laugh, his breath hot against her skin. He lifted his head and glanced next to them. "You lit a fire."

She turned her head and was surprised to find a small fire flickering, bathing them in a soft, orange glow. She frowned and tensed under him. "I couldn't control it," she said, voice soft.

"It's okay," he answered, tilting her head back with his hands. The crinkle at his eyes was back and his eyes were full of love.

"I could have hurt you."

"No, you couldn't," he argued kindly. "I heard a few of my Templar brothers speak of this. They all said that their mages felt the same."

" _Their_ mages?" she questioned.

"They were in love. You can hardly expect for them to live together, socialize with one another, and never develop deeper feelings. So, yes, they were their mages and the mages freely called them their Templars, so the feelings were mutual."

She smiled and pressed a kiss against his lips. "Are you my Templar and Warden?"

He gave a quiet, answering laugh. "You know I never took my vows, but yes. Just as you are my Warden and mage." He grew silent, his eyes looking into hers. "I love you."

"And I love you," she replied, bring his head down for a passionate kiss.

She felt him start to harden inside of her and rolled her hips, an automatic reaction that both shocked and aroused her. He groaned and his eyes fluttered shut, his chapped lips brushing across her lips.

"Another round?" she asked boldly, her body already responding.

"Maker, yes."

 

* * *

  

Sometime later, he found Morrigan sitting by her fire and cautiously approached her. She looked up at him with a bored expression, yet one brow arched in mild curiosity.

He gazed up at the silver speckled sky. "Look at all the little lights," he commented.

"They're called stars, Alistair," she answered snobbishly.

He glanced back at her with a smile. "I know," he said.

"What do you want?"

"I hear I have you to thank for her coming to me," he spoke after a moment. He turned to fully face her. "So here I am, just me, thanking you."

She eyed him suspiciously and he began to wonder if she was going to curse him. "If you hurt her, I will have no regrets in hunting you down and ripping out your heart through your chest." She spoke the words as calmly as if discussing the weather.

He laughed and said, "Of that, I have no doubt. Do not worry, Morrigan. I have no intentions of hurting her."

"It had better stay that way," she replied. She stood and brushed off the leaves that clung to her. "Now, off with you. It is unkind to leave a woman such as her alone in her bed after your escapades."

He laughed again and smiled inwardly. Perhaps Morrigan wasn't so bad after all.

"Knobhead," he heard her whisper as he started towards Nedra's shadowed tent.

Nope. She was still a bitch.

At least she cared for Nedra, and, to him, that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to give many, many hugs to the wonderful and beautiful [Zendelai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zendelai/pseuds/Zendelai) for her patience as an amazing beta while I wrote this. It took me months to write, but she was there cheering me on. She is a very dear friend and I have to give her the biggest thanks ever. :-)
> 
> As always, I hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> And feel free to check out my [tumblr](http://darkaislinn.tumblr.com/).


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